


You, Me, And These Piano Keys.

by larrymylove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Quite a lot actually, and harry just really likes disney songs, and may or may not be falling in love, harry is a brat, louis plays the piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrymylove/pseuds/larrymylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is one of the most renowned concert pianists in the US. The piano is his one true love, his passion. He can’t imagine not enjoying what he does for a living. Until Harry Styles, the British popstar Louis loathes - with his curls and his tattoos - commissions Louis to play at his birthday party. Now all Louis can think about is how he just wants this to be over. And that Harry Styles is in drastic need of an attitude adjustment. And maybe - just maybe - Louis is the one to give it to him. Something I whipped up quickly because I wanted to get this idea out and work on my other fics soooo it's not the best. But it still makes me smile!</p><p>AKA: The one where Louis plays the piano, Harry is a brat, and Louis may or may not be falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You, Me, And These Piano Keys.

**Author's Note:**

> On the ride back from out of town, this idea popped into my head. And when I started writing it, I had no idea what this outcome would be. But I'm pretty pleased with how this turned out and I hope you enjoy it too. I do not own any of the songs I mention throughout this story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Bookmarks, kudos, and comments make my day :)

 

Louis Tomlison loved the piano. He always had ever since he was a kid. When he was a child, some relative had given him a miniature keyboard. The thing was just a toy to be played around with and forgotten along with many others. But Louis had taken special interest in his keyboard. He even tried to teach himself how to play properly before his mother took notice and decided to enroll him in lessons. Louis was always loud, brash, and a hyper little shit of a child. If there was trouble, he was going to find it. If there wasn’t, he was going to make it. But when he played the piano, he was focused and disciplined.

The only times he ever set still was to practice. And his mother, Jay, didn’t even have to pester him to do so. Every day after school, after lessons, Louis would sit at the piano and practice for three hours. Then he would begin his homework. He got the piano when he was in the seventh grade. He’d been using a regular keyboard his mother had bought at a yard sale for a great deal. But on his twelfth birthday, she’d surprised him with a real, actual piano. And Louis was certain it was his most treasured possession.

Even now, at the age of twenty-seven, being the most renowned pianist in the United States, and having several platinum - yes, platinum! - records, Louis’ favorite piano was the one from his mother. He had played on beautiful glossy grands and baby grands. But the simple wooden thing with yellowing keys, that was his favorite. He’d been sitting at it when he’d received the phone call from his manager - yes, manager! - Zayn.

“I have a proposition for you,” Zayn started off, no greeting. And right away, Louis knew something was amiss because this was Zayn for God’s sakes and Zayn was hardly ever this serious. If he had to be serious, he’d have sent an email. Louis knew Zayn well enough by now to know these things about him. And it sort of helped matters that Zayn was also his best friend in the whole wide world. Yeah. That too.

“Zaynie,” Louis shut the lid over the keys, “What is it?”

Louis loved propositions. Propositions from music patrons. Propositions from cute boys. Propositions in general. Louis loved them. But there was something about Zayn’s tone. If he was going to offer Louis something exciting - like a private event at the Met, for example, he’d have been a lot louder and a lot more excited. This was serious-Zaynie. And serious-Zaynie was no fun as far as Louis was concerned.

“Alright,” Zayn took a deep breath, “You know Harry Styles, right?”

“Ugh!” Louis gagged into the phone, “Don’t even get me started. Of course I know of him, Zayn. The boy’s stupid face is plastered all over every tabloid everywhere I go. There is no escape from him. Those curls...and those tattoos...and ugh! What about him?”

“He’s uh...he’s having a bit of a birthday party.”

“Ookay?”

“And he um…” Zayn was floundering. And Louis just knew - he _just knew_ \- that this was something he wasn’t going to like. “He’s uh...he’s turning twenty-one in a few weeks. On um...February 1st. And he’s um...he’s contacted us about having you play at his party.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Louis...hear me out, okay. This is a huge deal. Harry Styles is the top name in music right now. Playing at his party could really put you on the map. Internationally. The US already loves you. But Harry is from England, Lou. This could be big for us. For you.”

Louis frowned. Because what part of ‘absolutely not’ had been lost on Zayn? “So what does he expect of me then? To fly out to England to perform for him? No. Absolutely not.”

“He has a home here in New York, Lou. That’s where his party will be. In the Hamptons. And he’s offering you a huge chunk of cash for this event.”

“I read the papers, Zayn. Harry Styles is a whiny, bratty little baby. And he has no taste in music. It’d be an insult to me to play for him!”

“Oh now you’re just sounding like a prick!” Okay, so maybe he was. So what? So what! He was absolutely not going to play at Harry Styles’ birthday party. Out of all the things in the world...no! Louis was quite certain he’d rather have his fingernails ripped out than have to play for Harry fucking Styles.

“Zayn, please don’t ask me to do this. In his most recent interview, they asked him what is musical influences were and the child actually said Justin Bieber. If I lay eyes on him, I will break his fucking neck!”

“Lou...why were you watching his most recent interview?”

“I was channel flipping. And it was on. And I watched like one minute of it before I decided I hate the little punk even more than I had before. Zayn, he’s such a spoiled brat! I’ve heard he’s impossible to work with. And I refuse to do anything for him. He’s a child. A child in need of a good attitude adjustment.”

“You sure you don’t want to be the one to give it to him?” Zayn chuckled on the other end.

“Shut. The fuck. Up. He’s a _baby!_ ”

“He’s twenty-one.”

“Not yet he isn’t,” Louis grumbled, standing from the piano bench, “Zayn, he once fired an assistant for giving him a regular latte instead of a soy latte. _Soy_ , Zayn! He’s not even lactose intolerant. He’s just a prick!”

“And you know that bit of information...how?”

“Zayn, if I see him, I will slap his face off!”

\--

“I fucking hate you,” Louis grumbled into Zayn’s ear. They were currently pulled up at the big iron gate in front of Harry Styles’ - of course - mansion. Louis’ driver, Alberto, had rang the buzzer and explained who they were. And now they were awaiting security’s clearance. And Louis was debating jumping from the car and making a run for it. But he was in his nice shoes. Prada. And it’d just rained. And mud and nice shoes were an absolute no in his book. Instead, he straightened a little and adjusted the lapel of his navy blue suit. It’d been Zayn’s idea for him to wear it. “Make a good impression,” he’d encouraged. Louis still didn’t know how Zayn had talked him into this mess.

But of course he had. Because he was Zayn. And he was Louis’ manager. And Louis’ best friend. And he knew what was best for Louis even when Louis himself didn’t. So finally after some arguing and Louis giving Zayn a few choice words, they were sitting outside Harry Styles’ - gag! - mansion.

Because Harry Styles was a little prick. And Harry Styles wanted to meet Louis in person and give him a setlist of songs to perform. And wanted to make sure Louis would have “the proper aesthetic.” Whatever the fuck that meant.

Finally the big iron gates opened and Alberto drove them through and up a long gravel drive. The mansion was enormous. And Louis spied a pool and a tennis court around the back. Harry Styles didn’t even play tennis! Had no coordination whatsoever. If he went to swung a bat, he’d probably end up accidentally chucking it across the court. But Louis didn’t know that. Absolutely not. It’s not like he read up on Harry Styles. Because he didn’t.

Alberto parked their car and came around to open their doors for them. They headed up to the main entrance and Louis glanced around, nose turned up in the air because yes he was absolutely going to be a prick about this. Oh sure, he was going to be professional for the actual event. He was going to be absolutely the imagine of professional. But right now, he just wasn’t feeling it.

The doors opened and there stood Harry Edward Styles. And Louis was a little surprised. Because Harry was not wearing his usual attire of tight, tight, tight black skinny jeans with an obscenely unbuttoned dress shirt. Louis swore the kid looked like he belonged on the cover of some trashy romance novel more than half the time. But this? This was surprising. Harry was wearing blue jeans and a loose-fitting white v-neck. Instead of the usual black boots, he had on comfy looking brown ones that looked a bit tired for wear. His curls were pulled back in a headscarf. An actual fucking headscarf. And when Harry smiled at them, he dimpled. And Louis wanted to die.

Because maybe - just maybe - Louis Tomlinson had had a little bit of a crush on Harry Styles. Not that he’d ever admit that, even under the cruelest of tortures. Harry Styles was a strange, strange cocktail of sexy and cute and Louis maybe - just maybe - wanted to get a little drunk. But Louis had read enough in tabloids and seen enough in interviews to know better. Harry Styles was a brat. A spoiled brat who always got whatever he wanted. And that was just so, so unattractive.

“Hello!” He said brightly, and dear God that accent was something else. His voice was like syrup. A bedroom voice. But at 2pm on a fucking Wednesday. And no. Louis was not going to think about Harry Styles having a bedroom voice.

“Louis Tomlinson!” Harry turned to Louis, eyes and smile bright and dimples on full display. Louis wanted to melt into the floor. “So you will be playing at my birthday party, then! I _love_ your work. That one song that you played on your Christmas CD. Um...the one that goes dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum! dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum! da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum!”

Louis looked at Harry Styles as if he were completely bonkers, “You mean _The Nutcracker Suite_ from _The Nutcracker?_ ”

“Maybe. Is that the one?”

“Harry,” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, “Everyone knows that. Literally _everyone_ knows that. How do you _not_ know that?”

“Sorry?” Harry shrugged and Louis was absolutely not going to be endeared by that - especially not after what Harry had just said. For God’s sakes! Who didn’t know that that song was from The Nutcracker! And then it got worse. Louis didn’t think it could, but apparently it did. Because just then Harry tacked on, “I just thought it was cute.”

“ _Cute?_ ” Louis practically shouted and Zayn had to place a hand on his back to remind him where they were. But Louis didn’t care. Harry Styles could be the Queen of fucking England and he’d still want to strangle him. “Tchaikovsky is _not_ cute! For God’s sakes, Harry! He used _fucking cannons_ as an instrument! _Cannons!_ ”

“Okay?” Harry just blinked. Oh yes. Louis was quite sure he was going to slap him.

“Harry,” Zayn stepped forward just before Louis could say - or do - anything, “I believe you wanted to discuss the setlist of music Louis will be playing next weekend.”

“Ah, right!” Harry snapped his fingers and indicated for Zayn and Louis to follow him. They exchanged a look - Zayn’s bordering warning - and followed Harry from the entryway into a living area. Harry motioned for them to take a seat on one of his couches while he grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk, “Here you go!” He handed the paper to Louis. Louis skimmed over it.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Louis asked.

“Lou…” Zayn warned.

“Just look at this, Zayn!” Louis thrust the paper to Zayn, “Look at what he’s asking me to play! This has to be some sort of joke, right?”

The paper listed about twenty songs - all of which were from Disney movies. Bloody Disney movies. Louis wanted to roll up the paper and beat Harry over the head with it.

“I’ve played Tchaikovsky and Beethoven! Rossini and Chopin! I’ve played them in opera houses and in concert halls. And you’re asking me to play _I’ll Make a Man Out of You_ and _Be Our Guest?_ ”

Harry was grinning widely, “I figured you could play _Be Our Guest_ as the guests are arriving!” And then he giggled. Actually giggled. And no, it was not cute. “How clever would that be!”

“You _cannot_ be serious,” Louis deadpanned.

“I absolutely am.”

Louis’ brow furrowed, “I thought you were turning twenty-one. Not nine, Styles.”

Harry frowned at that. The glisten falling from his eyes. His brow furrowing just slightly. And Louis swore he saw Harry’s bottom lip just forward just slightly, “I-I wanted to do a Disney themed party. I thought it’d be fun,” and then suddenly his demeanor changed. And the bottom lip went back in and his chin jutted out slightly and his jaw set, “It _will_ be fun."

“I’m not playing these songs,” Louis tossed the paper onto the coffee table.

“Yes you are."

“Excuse me?”

“I said, yes you are. It’s my birthday. And I’ve hired you. And you’re going to leave the Chick-cough-ski and the Show-pin at home. You will play what I want you to play. And you’ll be damn good at it. And my guests will have the time of their bloody lives.” Harry leaned forward, and Louis could feel his break on his forehead because yes, as much as he hated it, this man-child-person was actually taller than him, “Is that clear?”

Louis’ jaw dropped. Because frankly, who was Harry Styles to even speak to him in that tone? But Zayn put a firm hand on Louis’ knee and squeezed. And Louis sighed and straightened and put on his best and fakest good-boy smile as he said -

“Crystal.”

\--

The next day Louis found himself at Harry’s once again. Without Zayn this time. All because the little brat wanted Louis to come over to practice the songs in person so that Harry could hear them and evaluate him. As if Louis needed Harry Styles’ evaluation of his piano-playing capabilities. For God’s sake! But here he was, yet again. He’d driven himself this time. Not wanting to impose on Alberto. And now here he was standing outside Harry’s entrance. The door opened and Harry was standing before him in ripped jeans and a fucking Rolling Stones t-shirt. And Louis wanted to die a little.

“Do you even know who they are,” Louis asked, jabbing a finger into Harry’s chest.

Harry took a step back at the unexpected contact, “Of course I do, Louis.”

“Name one song. And if you say _Satisfaction_ , I will walk out these doors and you’ll be stuck with no one to entertain your party.”

Without missing a beat, Harry said, “ _Wild Horses._ ” And well. That was unexpected. Louis didn’t say anything. At least not about that.

“So, where is this piano of yours?”

“In here,” Harry waved to Louis to follow him, “In the salon.”

“ _The salon?_ ” Louis shut his eyes out of mere frustration. This was not his life. There was no way this was his life.

Harry opened a heavy wooden door and Louis saw what a salon looked like. Apparently it was some large room with cherry-wood floors. There was a baby grand sitting in the corner. One wall was all windows. And there were crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and there were huge paintings on the walls. Of dogs. In military uniforms. And Louis wanted to die a little.

“You’re kidding, right?” Louis tapped on the frame of a schnauzer in an admiral's uniform.

“Don’t touch that!” Harry snapped, “It’s art!”

“It’s garbage. Belongs in a flea market.”

“It’s funny! I like it! It makes me smile when I look at them!” Harry folded his arms over his chest and Louis was almost certain he’d stomp his foot. He didn’t. “Are you going to actually sit at the piano or are you going to insult my art, Tomlinson?”

“Art,” Louis scoffed, but was now making his way towards the piano, “Is that what the kids are calling it these days.”

“I’m not a kid!” Harry frowned, and his voice was the equivalent of Louis’ baby sisters’ when they weren’t getting their way, “Just sit down at the piano. I had the sheet music to my song list printed out. I want you to play each song on that list. I want to hear it. I want to hear you. And it better be brilliant, Louis. If not, I can always find someone else.”

Louis _wanted_ to say, “Good! Don’t wanna be here anyway!” But kept that to himself. Because part of the reason he was still going through with this was to prove to Zayn that he could. A test of his patience and willpower.

“Fine then,” Louis shuffled through the sheet music, “Shall I begin then?”

Harry sunk down onto a red velvet couch. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he said, “I’m waiting, aren’t I?”

And Louis rested his hands above the keys, willing himself not to completely lose it.

\--

“Brilliant!” Harry jumped up from his couch, clapping eagerly. And Louis didn’t want to admit he may have smiled a little at the accolade. But then Harry’s demeanor shifted and he leaned against the piano, next to Louis, and said in a very condescending tone, “But do you think maybe you could play _I’ll Make a Man Out of You_ with a bit more...finesse!”

“ _Finesse?_ ” Louis raised a brow, slowly turning to stare at the boy next to him. What he saw in his line of gaze was crotch. Crotch in tight, tight blue jeans. And no. Absolutely no. Louis forced himself to look up to meet Harry’s gaze. He hated having to tilt his head up to talk to him.

“You know,” Harry waved his hand, “passion.”

“Don’t you talk to me about passion, Styles. Your last hit was some about dancing at a club. I believe one of the lines actually went ‘ _everybody on your feet, it’s club night, let’s hit the street._ ’ Am I correct?”

“You know my song?” Harry looked a bit more delighted than he probably should.

“Only because the radio constantly over plays it,” Louis rolled his eyes, “There’s no escape from it, honestly. One day, it was on three channels at once. Three! I almost yanked my car radio out right then and there because of it.”

Harry winced, folding in a little on himself, “That isn’t exactly my fault.”

“Well who’s fault is it, then?”

“You’re a musician,” Harry shrugged, “you know the game. You write and compose and it’s management that pick what they want to hear from you. Even if it’s songs made up in some office, tailor made and cut just for a certain audience. And you have journals upon journals of good music. _Really good music._ And it just gets tossed aside. Because the teenage girls don’t want to hear anything that’s not shallow...according to management, that is. I tend to disagree. I think if I could share my music - the songs I write - people would like them. Or at least I hope they would.”

Louis blinked. Because okay. Wow. He hadn’t expected that from Harry Styles. And for a moment, Louis wondered if he had been too quick to judge him.

But then, just as he was thinking that, Harry tacked on, “Must be different for a concert pianist like yourself,” and it was said in the snottiest, brattiest tone imaginable. And Louis’ upper lip curled slightly because frankly, who did this child think he was? Honestly! If Louis’ sisters’ used that tone...he’d ground them for a week. And he began to wonder where Harry Styles learned manners. Or rather - _not_ learned manners.

“You don’t know me,” Louis shook his head, “And I was just wondering if maybe you had some substinance to you, Styles. But I realize now that maybe not. Maybe you are just some spoiled rotten little child.”

“I am _not_ a child!” And yup. There it was. The foot stomp. And Louis’ gaze dropped down to the accusing foot. And then slowly drifted back up to meet Harry’s. And Louis raised an eyebrow.

“That so?”

“I’m not!” Harry insisted.

“Gonna stomp your foot again then, baby?”

And _baby?_ Louis had meant it to come out as accusatory. He’d meant it to make Harry angry. But the flush on Harry’s cheeks seemed to be due to a different emotion entirely. And Louis swallowed, hard.

“Okay,” he shuffled the music, “Let me try that one one more time.”

“With finesse!” Harry insisted.

\--

During _You’ll Be in My Heart_ , things took a turn for the worst. Louis nailed it. He absolutely did. But Harry seemed to think otherwise.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!” Harry stormed back over to the piano, “It’s all wrong! You’re all wrong! You can’t even play this properly, Tomlinson! Am I going to have to find someone else?”

Louis scowled, “I played it perfectly, Styles. _Perfectly!_ Phil Collins himself couldn’t have done better!”

“I beg to differ.”

“And what, may I ask, did I do wrong with it?”

“Just...you’re lacking.”

“Lacking?” Louis laughed. Because, really? “You are really telling me right now that I am lacking? Harold, I am a concert pianist! I’ve played for the fucking president of the United States. Or does that not mean anything to you British nut jobs? I _nailed_ that piece. I know I did. It was excellent!”

“You just don’t get it.”

"What?"

“Nothing. You can leave now.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m done with you. You can leave now.”

“Am...am I fired then?” Louis frowned, because there was no way in hell Harry Styles was decommissioning him. He had done nothing wrong. In fact, he’d done everything right. These pieces were so simple that a child could play them. In fact, a child did play them. He grew up playing these very songs. When he was about nine. There was no way Harry was really going to kick him to the curb.

“I have yet to decide that.”

“Oh, really now?” Louis stood from the piano bench.

“Really now. It’s my birthday. _Mine!_ And I want everything to be absolutely perfect! And you...you just aren’t it. You are all _wrong_.”

“Oh this will be rich. Go ahead. Tell me how I’m wrong then, Styles. Am I too professional? Too classically trained? Too worldly? Too…”

“You say I’m a child and that I’m a brat,” Harry walked back over to where Louis was currently standing, “Yet you act like you’re so much better than me. Why? We both are famous. We both are good at what we do. We are both successful. So why then are you better than me? You talk about me being a brat? You act like these songs are beneath you!”

“They are!”

“God! Has piano really become such a job to you that you’ve forgotten just how to have fun with it?” Harry asked.

And Louis paled. Because no. No. No. No. Harry was not going to accuse him of that. He just wasn’t. Louis was great at what he did. He loved playing piano. Playing the piano made sense to him. It calmed him. It made the world seem like things were right and good. And there was no way Harry was going to accuse him of losing his passion for it.

“You do not get to make those sorts of assumptions to me. You...you’re nothing but a child! A little child who knows nothing of what he is speaking about!”

“Better a child who’s happy than a miserable old man!”

“Miserable old ma - “ Louis cut himself off with a dry laugh, “Styles, I am _so_ glad you fired me. Because I wouldn’t want to play for your birthday party anyway.”

“Good! I don’t want you there. You’d suck the fun out of it.”

“I know how to have fun,” Louis scoffed, “You just wouldn’t know that.”

“Either play the piece properly, or you can leave. Take your pick, Tomlinson.”

Louis let out a small growl as he trudged back to the piano. He needed to suck it up and get through it. He needed to prove to himself and to Zayn that he could handle this. Besides, the check he’d be getting from Harry Styles would almost make this headache worth it. Almost.

As Louis was about to play the piece again, a man came into the room with a set of color swatches. And Louis turned to watch because really, how could he not? He could just feel that something amusing was going to happen. And he wasn’t far off base on that.

“Mr. Styles. I have the color swatches from the caterer. Would you be free to take a look now?”

“I suppose,” Harry sighed, sounding bored, “Okay, let me see them.”

“You did mention wanting to go with a crimson tone for the party. Crimson and…”

“Pewter,” Harry rolled his eyes, “Pewter, Patrick. It’s not the hardest thing to remember.”

“Right. Sorry about that then, Mr. Styles.”

Harry flicked through the color swatches and Louis watched, teeth resting on his bottom lip and a frown on his face. Crimson and Pewter. Who even picked those colors? And was Pewter really a color?

“No, no, no!” Harry tossed the swatches to Patrick who almost dropped them, “None of them are right. They’re all wrong! Everything is wrong! The crimson isn’t even crimson. It’s got purple hues to it. Do you know how _horrible_ purple would look in here? Especially with the sunset lighting? Christ., Patrick! All I want is Crimson and Pewter. How hard is that to accomplish?”

“I-I’m sorry sir. Let me go ring the caterer. Have them send over something else…”

“No. No! Nothing else from them! Call up Diane. _She_ will set this right. I don’t know why we insisted on allowing the caterer to decorate as well! Get Diane. An actual decorator. She’ll know what I am asking for.”

“Crimson and Pewter, Crimson and Pewter…” Patrick mumbled to himself as he left the “salon.” Louis was glaring as Harry walked back over to the piano. He began to shuffle through the music, looking for what Louis should play next.

“Was that necessary?” Louis asked.

“Absolutely. I need to have everything perfect for my party. And I always get what I want.”

“Suppose someone can’t give you what you want? Suppose your requests are too much?”

“Nothing is too much,” Harry scoffed, “And if they can’t fill my requests, I will find someone who can. I always get what I want, Tomlinson. Now. What I _want_ is for you to play _I See The Light._ ”

“You are an absolute brat,” Louis scoffed, and as he found the sheet music to _I See The Light_ , he muttered, “‘I always get what I want.’ Well maybe you shouldn’t get what you _want_. Maybe you should get what you _need_. And you _need_ a spanking.”

He hadn’t really thought about it when he said it. It just sort of came out. Louis had a bad habit of that. He looked to Harry to gauge his reaction. Harry’s cheeks were flushed pink and he was gripping the sheet music in his hands so tightly his knuckles were ghostly white.

“Is that...is that so?” He asked. And Louis smirked. Because he could just tell Harry was trying really hard to sound posh and professional and in charge. But the crack in his voice let Louis know that Harry most certainly was not in charge. Not in charge of anything at the moment. And Louis wondered if maybe that’d be a good position for Harry to be in. Submissive for once. Not ordering people around.

“Quite so,” Louis leveled Harry with a look. And suddenly the “salon” felt as though the air had been vacuumed out. Everything felt hot and heavy and Louis felt as though he was trying to breathe in a sauna. Harry’s eyes had darkened and there was something different in the way he was looking at Louis now. And Louis could feel it. Feel the tension. The heaviness. And maybe the slight desperation there between them? And fuck. Harry looked completely wrecked already just from that comment. And Louis felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. Because Harry looked really fucking hot when he was wrecked.

“That never really worked for me in the past,” Harry cleared his throat and held Louis’ gaze.

“Well maybe you just need a firmer hand then,” Louis countered. And Christ Almighty, when did things take this turn! Louis racked his brain, trying to get his thoughts sorted. Wasn’t he just about to play a song from _Tangled?_ Why was this happening? Why did he have to go and make that stupid comment about spanking. Where had it even come from? But it was out there and there was no taking it back. And maybe if Louis had known it’d have this effect on Harry, he would have made it sooner.

“Maybe,” Harry shrugged, and Louis smirked again at just how hard Harry was trying to keep himself glued together.

And no. No. No. No. This could not be happening. This was _not_ happening. Louis needed to deflect. Needed to deflect immediately. He was a professional. And Harry was a child. And no. Just no. They couldn’t be having a conversation like this. They couldn’t be looking at each other like this. And the butterflies in Louis’ stomach needed to fuck off right the fuck now!

“So, _I Can See The Light_ then?” Louis adjusted the sheet music and Harry fish mouthed.

“Y-yes,” he nodded, and Louis could just hear the disappointment draining in his voice. But he added, “Please.” And Louis was sure that was the first time he’d heard Harry use the word.

\--

The next day, Louis arrived again. Harry had insisted on it. And right away, they took to running through the songs again. Louis nailed them each time. But Harry still wanted to hear them played, just to be sure. And Louis was actually enjoying himself. He found that it was actually quite fun playing the music he grew up listening to and practicing with. He even found himself smiling as he played _Trashin’ The Camp_ from _Tarzan_. Okay. Maybe more than just smiling. He found himself bouncing his head along to the familiar song. And by the time he was done, he was actually laughing.

And Harry was leaning against the piano, laughing with him. “See, what did I tell you?” Harry asked, “Fun, right?”

“Alright, Styles. You got me,” Louis brushed the fringe out of his eyes, “It is fun to play this music. I’ll give you that.”

“Yay!” Harry clapped and Louis rolled his eyes, still smiling though. And did Harry Styles purposefully try to act as adorable as possible at all times? “Hey, I have an idea,” Harry giggled into his hands before disappearing over to the counter of the bar. He came back with his iPhone in his hands. He scrolled around on the phone for a little bit before resting it on top of the piano. “Come here,” he held his hands out.

“Why?” Louis’ narrowed his eyes suspiciously just as the familiar notes of _Trashin’ The Camp_ started up from the phone.

“We’re going to dance, silly!” Harry insisted, waving his hands a little. Louis rolled his eyes.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. You’re dancing with me. And I always get my way, remember?”

“Right. Because you’re a brat.”

“Mmhmm,” Harry smiled as though the term were a compliment. And Louis let out a little groan before finally grabbing hold of Harry’s hands and allowing himself to be pulled up from the piano bench.

The music picked up and they began to swing dance around the open floor plan. And Louis couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had that much fun without the assistance of some substance. And Harry’s eyes - Christ Almighty! He’d never seen them sparkle like that before. Harry was absolutely glowing - his smile huge on his face. And Louis could feel his cheeks grow sore. And he just knew that he was smiling just as ridiculously too.

“Doo-bop-shi-boo!” Harry sang at the top of his lungs and Louis leaned in, pressing his face against Harry’s neck - because that’s where his face happened to land thanks to height differences - and giggled. Yes. Louis Tomlinson _giggled_.

“Hey!” Harry shoved at him, “Stop that! That tickles!”

Louis pulled back, “Okay. Let me get this straight. You are having Disney music played at your twenty-first birthday party. And you have me dancing around your ‘salon’ to Tarzan music. _And_ you’re ticklish to boot?” Louis raised a brow, “Harold Styles, aren’t you just the most adorable thing on the earth?”

And he sort of meant that to be sarcastic. Sort of. Maybe. But it definitely didn’t come out that way. Instead, it came out exploding with fondness and Louis flushed slightly at the realization of what he’d just said.

Harry threw his head back and laughed before grabbing Louis’ hands and pulling him back towards him, “You’re being a suck up.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asked. The next song of Harry’s Disney Playlist started up. _The Bear Necessities_. Harry just laughed again and started to dance again. It was sloppy. Louis swore the boy had giraffe legs. And he was an absolute mess and Louis was falling hard and fast for this ridiculous boy who was currently yanking him around the ‘salon’ in some attempt at dancing.

“I mean, you’re just sucking up so I don’t decide to go ahead with my attempt at firing you.”

“You never fired me!” Louis scoffed.

“Mmm. I think I did. And then you sat your big bum back on the bench and that was that. And I was stuck with you.”

“ _You_ were stuck with _me?_ ” Louis raised a brow, “And what was that remark about my bum, Harold?”

Harry just smiled sweetly, twirling Louis around to the music. Louis laughed again, wondering when anyone had ever twirled him before. He didn’t think they had. Or at least if they did, it wasn’t like this. The room was spinning and he wasn’t sure if he was actually dizzy or if it was the effect Harry Edward Styles had on him.

“I said,” Harry cleared his throat just as _Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious_ started up, “You have a big bum.”

Louis yanked Harry close into him and dipped him. Wondering where the fuck he’d learned that move. Harry was looking up at him with eyes sparkling and wide and it took every ounce of willpower Louis had not to just kiss him right then and there.

“Don’t be a brat.”

“But I am, I’m afraid,” Harry smiled sweetly.

“If you’re going to be a brat, you’re going to get a spanking,” Louis raised a brow, and loved how pink Harry’s cheeks turned at that comment. Suddenly Louis yanked him back up and swung him around the room. And they both dissolved into a fit of laughter, collapsing into each other. The song had ended now. And the playlist was slow to skip to the next.

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Harry asked, sobering.

“You,” Louis pointed a finger at him, “are trouble. I am nothing if not professional. And having um...relations...with your patrons is not professional, Harold.”

“Well good thing my birthday is in a few days. And after that, you won’t be my employee anymore.”

“Oh and what makes you think that as soon as your party is done, I won’t just take my check and be about my merry way, then?”

“Because,” Harry shrugged as if it were that simple, “I think I have an effect on you.”

“You have an effect on me?” Louis gasped. He hadn’t been that obvious. Had he?

“Oh, Tomlinson. I know I do.”

**\--**

Harry Styles was an absolute brat. He was a spoiled rotten little brat. They had spent the rest of the days leading up to Harry’s party practicing. And now that Harry knew the effect he had on Louis, he used whatever chances he could get to make Louis flustered. Which was both frustrating and exciting to Louis. It could be anything from a comment like, “You have pretty hands. Nice fingers too” to, “So, besides wanting to spank me, what else do you want to do to me then?” He’d make these comments at the worst possible times too. Right as Louis was playing the piano - focused hard on the notes in front of him. And then there’d be on of those comments, just dropping off Harry’s tongue so casually. And Louis’ fingers would slip. And Harry would laugh. And Louis was quite certain he wanted this boy.

The night of Harry’s party came. Zayn had picked Louis out a beautiful tux. And Louis couldn’t help but smile at his reflection. Because he looked good. He looked really good. It was still early yet. But Harry had insisted that Louis get there an hour before the party. Just to make sure everything is set up and ready to go. Or something of that nature. Louis didn’t question it.

“So...where do you two stand with each other?” Zayn asked from his spot on the couch as Louis adjusted his lapel.

“What do you mean?” Louis asked, trying to sound as if he didn't know. He hadn't exactly helped himself out by gushing to Zayn about Harry on numerous occasions. 

“I mean, you went from talking about him like he made your skin crawl, to talking about him like you’re two seconds from slamming him into a wall. So what is it?”

“I...I don’t know,” Louis tried to sound impassive.

“Well, I think you two would be cute together.”

“Zaynie!"

“Just saying,” Zayn laughed, “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. You’re both fairly decent looking.”

“I’m not discussing this,” Louis rolled his eyes, “Okay. How do I look?”

“Smitten.”

Louis hit Zayn over the head with a couch cushion.

\--

When he arrived to Harry’s, someone else answered the door. A man in a white tux. Louis glanced behind him and noticed about a dozen other men in matching tuxes running around.

“Hi,” Louis gave a small wave, “I’m Louis…”

“Mr. Styles is occupied at the moment. But do come in,” the man opened the door a bit wider and Louis stepped inside. He had a small package tucked under one arm. He felt stupid about it. What if no one was even bringing gifts? Louis had no idea. But he’d brought it anyway.

“Why are there baby's breath in the roses when I specifically said _no baby's breath in the roses_!” A familiar voice sounded from the salon. Louis rolled his eyes as he made his way towards the salon. Harry was inspecting the flowers and waving a sprig of babys breath in the air. “Does no one ever listen to me!”

“A little hard not to listen to you when you’re throwing such a tantrum,” Louis smirked, raising a brow. Harry’s eyes peeled from the roses towards the doorway where Louis was currently leaning - smirking and amused. Harry let out a small growl.

“Look at this!” He waved the sprig around, “Baby's breath!”

“You don’t say!”

“Sarcasm is not appreciated,” Harry’s eyes narrowed, “This is a _very_ serious matter!”

“Absolutely,” Louis straightened.

“Sarcasm!” Harry pointed an accusing finger at Louis.

“Well I guess the birthday boy is too busy throwing a fit to get his present then,” Louis pulled the package from under his arm and shrugged impassively, “Too bad too. I thought he might like it. Put a lot of effort into it. Wrapped it myself.”

“A present?” Harry’s eyes lit again and Louis figured he’d buy him a million presents just to make his eyes shine like that. No wonder the kid was a spoiled brat.

“Mmhmm,” Louis waved the package around, “But you’re busy over there dealing with,” Louis gasped dramatically, “ _baby's breath in the roses!_ ”

“Oh shut up!” Harry giggled, “Can I open it now?”

“Of course,” Louis handed him the package.

Harry tore at the bow and Louis felt a pinch of nerves. He hoped it wasn’t a stupid present. He hoped Harry would actually appreciate it. But after having spent the last week with Harry and laughing with him and getting to know him, Louis figured he would appreciate the thought behind the gift.

Harry pulled the leather journal from the wrapping paper. He let out a small little gasp as he ran his hand over the cover. “Lou...Lou this is beautiful!”

“I figured you could use another journal to write those songs down in, Styles. And maybe one of these days, I’ll hear a Harry Styles Original Song on the radio. But until then, I wanted to get you something special to write them down in.”

“Louis, it’s...it’s wonderful!” Harry pulled Louis into a tight hug. And Louis couldn’t help but gasp a little as Harry’s lips brushed against his cheek. “Johnny Depp sent me peacocks.”

“What?” Louis frowned, “Is this some way of telling me my gift isn’t good enough for…”

“Would you not interrupt!” Harry rolled his eyes. “I was _saying_ \- Johnny Depp sent me peacocks. And Angelina and Brad sent me expensive wine. And Miley Cyrus sent me champagne that could probably pay someone’s rent for a year. But this...this, Louis, is the best present I’ve gotten. My favorite present.”

“Do you mean that?” Louis asked, feeling as though he may just melt into the flooring.

“Of course I do, Louis.

**\--**

The party was actually really fun, Louis had to admit. Harry Styles did know how to throw a bash. The order of things went: Louis play five songs, then take a ten minute break, then play five more. He was currently sitting on one of the couches talking to Harry’s friend Liam about who was better - Spiderman or Batman. It was a fun, but heated debate. Suddenly though, Harry came up behind Louis, bent down, and whispered in his ear -

“After this party, I’m going to show you that you’re not the only one who can be good with his fingers.”

The party finished up around midnight. All the guests had left and the waiters were picking up plates and napkins and champagne flutes. Louis was just starting to stand up from the piano when he heard the door to the salon shut behind him. Then the recognizable sound of a lock turning.

Louis turned around to see Harry standing at the now shut, and locked, door. He had his hands clasped behind his back. He bit down on his bottom lip and slowly glanced up at Louis through his lashes.

“What are you doing, Styles?” Louis asked.

“You’ve been sayin’ all week that you were gonna spank me. That I was a spoiled brat who needed a firm hand. And I’ve been waiting and waiting all week and you never did anything. So here’s what’s going to happen.” Louis raised a brow and Harry continued, “You’re going to own up to your little threats you’ve made all week. You’re going to spank me. And then you’re going to fuck me against that piano. And then I’m going to suck you off and finger you so good that you forget your own name, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis grasped onto the edge of the piano just to keep himself from slipping onto the floor. His legs were suddenly absolute jello. Eventually, he managed the words, “Aren’t I...the one...who’s supposed to...be giving the...orders?”

Harry just laughed, “Spoiled brat, remember? I’m excellent at being bossy. And you know by now, Louis Tomlinson. I _always_ get what I want.”

\--

Louis slipped into his seat - third row, right in the middle. The concert hall was packed to the brim. Everyone wanted to come see the show that was about to take place - everyone from music critics, to classically trained musicians, to giggling teenage girls. There was a row of them right behind Louis. And he couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“Can you believe we’re finally going to see Harry Styles?”

“It’s Harry _Tomlinson_ now, you idiot!” Louis bit his bottom lip, smiling.

“Whatever! I just can’t believe we finally get to see him!”

“This is historical, you guys! Harry’s first tour since rebranding and dropping his old management. We actually get to hear Harry sing his original songs! Absolutely historic!”

“They’ll write about this moment in the history books,” another girl gushed.

And Louis just smiled. Eventually the lights dimmed and Harry took the stage. He bowed to the audience and sat down at the piano in the middle of the stage. He leaned into the mic as he said -

“Welcome everyone! I am so excited to see all of you all tonight! This is a big night for me. This is my first concert since breaking away from things last year. It’s been tough, but exciting. And I am so happy to finally be doing things my way. I’m a bit of a brat that way I suppose,” he laughed and Louis beamed, “Anyway, this is the first night of my new tour. And I can’t wait to introduce you to my music. The first song I have to just say really quick, is dedicated to my husband. For supporting me and encouraging me. Without him, I don’t think I’d be before you all today with just a piano and myself on this stage, about to sing to you my heart and my soul. So thank you, Louis. Again, thank you all for being here tonight. This first song is called Little Things…"


End file.
